


The Levee Will Break

by shaqbutt



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Genre: Alcohol, All of the implied tags are references with the reader's background, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, F/M, Flirting, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Llewyn is a mess, Mention of a character's (Mike) suicide, Oral Sex, Smut, Strained Relationships, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, mention of abusive relationship, there are no explicit descriptions of these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaqbutt/pseuds/shaqbutt
Summary: Llewyn's surprise return leads to a tense night where all your buried feelings flow out.
Relationships: Llewyn Davis/Original Female Character(s), Llewyn Davis/Reader
Kudos: 3





	1. The Quake

**Author's Note:**

> Reader has a name and a distinct personal background but no physical/cultural descriptors
> 
> This is sort of an odd piece I've been working on for a while
> 
> I have put the "ending" first and the "beginning" second. I think it hits a little deeper that way. Read in either order you would prefer :)

A nervous knot tightens in your stomach when his voice shouts through the intercom. You barely register any of what he’s saying after you hear your name, only coming back to reality somewhere between his fourth or fifth plea to be let in.

You press the buzzer to get the noise to stop. It’s quiet after the click of the lock. But you quickly realize that means he’ll soon be at your door in the flesh, not just a voice you could easily ignore. 

You clutch your chest, suddenly gasping for air. Your body had forgotten to breathe. The shock of his return quite literally almost killed you. 

Bracing the counter, you recover and prepare yourself to see a ghost. 

The knock on the door restarts your heart’s rapid beating.  _ Fuck _ . Gathering all your courage, you flatten your outfit and remove the last barrier between you and the man who had broken your heart so brutally.

Your mouth falls open when you see him. He looks the same but immensely more tired. The handsome black curls, the full beard, the soulful eyes that are never without a tinge of sadness, you haven’t seen him in months but it’s as if no time has passed. He has his normal belongings with him, his bag and guitar case placed at his feet. The only thing missing is your grandfather’s thick winter coat you had given him when you were on much better terms. Instead he stands before you incredibly ill-prepared for the snowfall outside. 

“You look terrible,” you say harshly, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible.

He swallows nervously and shifts his weight between his feet with his arms crossed tight around his body, trying to conserve heat. A small smile ghosts his face as he quickly looks you up and down. 

“You don’t,” he replies sincerely, slightly shivering in his thin, patched jacket and itchy scarf.

“It’s been a while,” you say, leaning into the doorframe. Tilting your head for a better look, you’re reminded of all the times you would immediately invite him in, no questions asked. And how he would leave his jacket on the hook by the door and how his hands would find your face and how his lips—-

“I went to Chicago,” he says flatly, looking over your shoulder into your apartment, eyes very obviously scanning for something. 

You scowl, pushing all the good memories out of your thoughts.  _ Fuck you, Llewyn _ . He’s only telling a half-truth. You know damn-well he hasn’t been in Chicago all this time. “You got beat up outside The Gaslight last week.”

He stiffens, guilty eyes finding yours in a panic. He studies your face for a long pause then furrows his brow in remorse. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by the loud whistling of the kettle filled with hot water you had started on the stove. 

“Can I come in? I’m freezing my balls off,” he pleads, his body once again shivering.

You look over your shoulder at the kettle, then back at him, then back at the kettle, then back at him. You shouldn’t give in. But the man is going to turn blue with frostbite if you don’t show him this kindness. 

You huff and roll your eyes before opening the door further and letting him shuffle past. He drops his bag and guitar in the living room near your couch and hurries over to the kettle to warm his hands as if it were a fireplace. 

You grab two mugs from your cabinet and fill them with the water. Adding a tea bag and honey to yours, you cross the room to sit down, expecting him to follow. But Llewyn remains standing. He takes off his scarf and gloves then presses the hot mug against his knuckles and neck, willing his body to heat up quicker. 

With the door closed and hot liquid a plenty, the apartment finally becomes warm enough for him and Llewyn takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook next to yours as he used to always do. Relaxed, he joins you at your tiny two-person dining table, where you had been silently watching him while sipping your tea. 

“Expecting someone? Jonah?” he asks, gesturing to the plate of cookies you had put out before his surprise arrival. 

You scoff, caught off-guard by the mention of your ex’s name. You forgot Llewyn was gone before Jonah had shown his true colors. And even though it had taken weeks, the evidence of Jonah’s damage was fully faded too. Llewyn has no idea what you’ve been through in his absence nor any insight into why you would be repulsed by the name. “Jonah will never be in this apartment again,” you reply coldly, not bothering to look at Llewyn to answer him.

“What did the fucker do?” he asks. You can see his concerned face out of the corner of your eye but refuse to turn to him. Instead you look into the kitchen and rub at your wrists, a habit that you had formed when the bruising was first noticeable. 

His eyes widen when he puts the pieces together. “I’ll kill him.”

“What the fuck are you gonna do, asshole?” you snap, quickly turning your head to him, annoyed by his incredulous statement. “You just got your ass beat last week.”

“Hey! That was an ambush! I was in the Navy, I can fight,” he responds defensively.

“Are you in the Navy now?” you counter.

“No.”

“See.” You shoot him a smug look and take a bite out of a cookie. 

“It’s not cause I’m weak!” he argues. “I don’t have the money for the papers. I paid the dues but then Joy threw out my papers. And you can’t board without the papers and I can’t get the money back. Fuck. It’s a fucking nightmare. I don’t need to go into it.”

With his eyes closed, he pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales slowly. After a long dramatic exhale, he drags his hand down his face and reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. He crosses the room and sits down next to your window, cracking it open enough for him to reach his hand out. He looks out the window after lighting up, trying to calm himself down. 

You raise your brow and roll your eyes.  _ The audacity of him _ . He really does just make himself at home wherever he is. 

Desperately trying to keep your poker face, you busy yourself with tasks to avoid letting your guard down. You can feel his eyes on you as you clean up the kitchen and wonder if he can detect that you’re barely holding it together. 

After a couple minutes he asks casually with just a hint of hesitancy, “So how’ve ya been? What are you doing?”

You stop your chores and grip the counter, hard. “Cut the bullshit Llewyn. I know you just want a space to sleep,” you answer harshly, failing to not let him get under your skin. 

“Marcy…” The strain in his voice stabs you in the stomach.

“Am I wrong?” you ask quietly, refusing to look at him.

He swallows nervously. “Marcy, I do need that but…” he stammers.

You nod to yourself, not needing a more detailed answer to your pointed question. “You know where the blankets are. Have the couch,” you say as you head towards the bedroom, attempting to make a dramatic exit. 

“Can we talk?” he pleads, briefly grabbing your arm to stop you, you jump on the contact. He immediately lets go and backs up once he feels you tense.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before turning to him, hoping he can’t see what’s welling inside your eyes. “About what?” you ask as calmly as possible. 

He flexes his hands out to you in frustration. “Jesus Christ woman, you know what,” he shouts.

“I haven’t seen you in months. What the fuck do you want to talk about?” you shout louder, breathing deeply after you finish, feeling the tears straining, willing you to let them fall.

His expression changes from anger to sorrow as he stares at you. His ragged breathing matches yours, also trying to calm his emotions. He bites his lip and looks away, taking another step back from you. “Fine. Nothing I guess,” he says, purposefully quiet and restrained. 

“I’m taking a bath. You know where everything is.” you quip, turning and slamming the bedroom door a bit more dramatically than necessary. 

Slipping into the hot water that smells of lavender, you’re finally able to relax after harboring tension from the minute you heard his voice. From underneath a mountain of bubbles, your body starts to heal itself down to your soul. You sigh contently as your shoulders sag against the wall of the tub, closing your eyes to inhale the aroma deeply. Finally in a moment of peace, you nod off, slowly forgetting the hardship of your day. 

Fluttering into half-consciousness, you’re smiling. You’re still warm in the fully bubbled bath, starting to prune but happy and calm. The floral scent permeates the air and the sound of an acoustic guitar is unmistakable outside of the bathroom door. 

In your daze you swear you can hear him singing, like he always used to do. You dream about him a lot but this one feels real, he sounds so close. You almost hate your mind for crafting something so perfect.

_ Howlin' green, green rocky road _

_ You promenade in green _

_ Tell me who you love _

_ Tell me who you love _

It feels like one of those moments you want to bottle up forever. A sense of true tranquility that could never really be. A strange reality where he stayed. A hallucination of your deepest desires. 

The music stops and there’s a knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

And that’s all it takes for everything to come back. You jolt up, shocked out of your daze, suddenly remembering reality and all it’s harshness. Water dashes over the sides of the tub as you scramble to grab the wall and steady yourself. 

It wasn’t a dream. He came back. And you let him in with little explanation, falling back into old patterns. 

Despite the delicious ease that comes from a good moment with Llewyn, the sharp pain of his absence is hard to bear. There is no way this euphoric feeling will last. He’ll ruin it. He always does. It's a matter of how, not if. 

You can’t soften to him. Especially not after Jonah, you’re not taking any more chances. And there couldn’t be anyone more unstable than Llewyn Davis. It’s better to hold firm with your guard than to risk any more damage from him. 

Straightening your back, you gather as many bubbles as you can to cover your naked figure from his gaze. “Ok Llewyn, come in.”

You can hear him push off of the door to stand up. You try to ignore how your heart swells at the image of him propped against the door, trying to get as close to you as he can, attempting to sing you into a state of calm. It’ll do you no good to think of him sweetly. 

You sharply inhale when you watch the door hesitantly start to open. 

His eyes widen when he finds you and a smile slowly creeps on his face as he steps forward. But when he meets your gaze and sees your cold expression, he freezes. He clears his throat and leans on the sink counter with one arm, trying to regain composure. 

“Need anymore fucking bubbles?” he asks with a tinge of mockery that you don’t appreciate. 

You roll your eyes. He’s ruined it in record time. “Alright, get out.”

He groans and scrunches his face with anguish. “No, Marcy,” he pleads. He looks at you with a level of sorrow you didn’t expect. “Argh, I don’t want you to hate me.” 

You furrow your brow and ask him “Why shouldn’t I?” as if it were an easy question to answer. 

His shoulders sag when he locks eyes with yours, pleading for forgiveness. “I don’t have a reason besides please don’t.” 

You study his face for a long while. You know he is truly apologetic, yet he has not actually apologized. The strain is laid out in his expressive, slowly reddening eyes. But you won’t meet him halfway, not this time. You’re worth more than unexplained arrivals and disappearances. 

You huff and relax your shoulders, your scowl sliding into a sad frown. You look away from him, fearing a tear would fall. 

He takes the note. Nervously swallowing, he blinks away his own tears that are cresting and backs out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You sink a little lower into the water with him gone, wondering how much more strength you have left to hold up your façade. 

He stands up abruptly from his spot on the couch when you swing the door open and walk through. You stumble back, surprised by his action. You rub at the hairs still stuck to your neck, wet from the bath water, as he looks you over, drinking in the sight of you in the sweater he had complimented you on so long ago. You’re not sure whether it was a conscious or subconscious decision to change into it. 

He leans forward, mouth open like he’s about to say something. You raise your eyebrow in question and he shuts his mouth into a line and turns to pull another cigarette out of his pocket. You decide to move on and hurry into the kitchen. 

Looking into your refrigerator you collect what you’ll need for dinner, knowing full-well that Llewyn intends to stay for it, even though he hasn’t asked yet. You look over at him staring out the window, lost in whatever thoughts are plaguing him today. 

You sigh. “Llewyn, come make yourself useful.” 

His head whips around quickly when you call his name, his uncertain eyes calling out to you in confusion. 

You can’t help but smirk. You had pulled him from his deep thinking and he looks oddly cute blinking himself back into reality. 

You chuckle softly and hold up a cucumber for him to see. “Cut up the vegetables,” you say nodding your head to the green one in your hand. 

He smiles and puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, swishing the smoke out the window before closing it shut. Standing up from his position, he rolls the cuffs of his collared shirt up as he walks over to join you in the kitchen. 

Your olive branch of asking him to help greatly deflated the tension. So even though you’re not talking to each other, save for the odd command or question, you’re both smiling softly as the dinner gets made. 

You eat in silence across from each other at the tiny table. You mainly just look at your plate the entire time but you can feel him watching you. A few times you even see him opening his mouth like he’s going to say something, only to decide against it and instead pick up another forkful. 

No sooner do you lay your cutlery down after you’ve finished does Llewyn scoop your plate away and bring it over to the sink. You watch him with confusion as he starts to lather up the dishes and wash them in the hot water. 

You scoff and chuckle to yourself.  _ This is new.  _

Without the task of the cleaning, you look around and your eyes land on your record player. Smiling, you walk over and play that one record that you had picked up over the summer. It’s light and cheery and the vocalist’s voice is soothing. Feeling generous, you walk over to your drink cart and pour two glasses of some dark liquid that you can’t tell whether it's whiskey or bourbon.

Meanwhile, Llewyn is displeased. He scoffs from behind the sink, putting the last dish in the rack on the counter. Wiping his wet hands on his pants, he saunters over to your collection while your back is turned and pulls out a record he had gifted you. It’s a slower album full of folk songs and he changes it without asking. 

“Hey!” you groan, your head whipping around when your music stops. 

“Sorry, gorgeous,” he says with no sense of remorse. His mocking grin beams at you as he pulls the needle down onto his chosen record and the noticeably more somber music starting to play. 

He takes one of the glasses from you and takes a big swig after plopping himself back down on the couch. He spreads out, stretching his arms out over the top of the couch after placing his drink on your coffee table. You stare at him dumbfounded. He stares back at you expectantly, waiting for you to do something. 

You take a big swing of your drink and place it back down on the cart. “Llewyn, you’re impossible,” you grumble as you march over to the player. You switch the records back and mutter under your breath at how stupid you were for thinking he wasn’t still this asshole. 

You turn to march your way back to your drink but Llewyn intercepts and grabs your wrist, knocking you off balance so you fall into his lap. You scoff, trying to process what just happened. Looking at where you’ve ended up, you can’t help but laugh and you press his chest in order to move off of him. 

He grabs your hand to get you to stay. He keeps completely still as he waits for you to make a move, any move. His eyes stare into yours with a mix of want and fear. He raises his eyebrow at you while moving in a tad, now only inches from your face, silently asking you for more. 

His eye contact is too strong. “I need to stay mad at you,” you whisper as you turn your head.

“Why?” he asks just as quietly, moving his hands to trail up your sides.

“Because you’ll only break my heart again,” you say, staring at his mouth.

“What makes you so sure?” he counters.

Your eyes flick up to meet his. “Trial and error.”

His brow furrows. “That’s fair.”

You nod and bite your lip. Knowing it’s the smart decision, you start to shift your weight so you can get off of him. 

He stops you again, holding tightly to your waist “But you could also  _ not  _ be mad.”

You look at him, your guard already halfway on the floor. “Give me a reason.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says with a smile, giving your waist a tight squeeze. 

You roll your eyes, knowing that’s not nearly enough to warrant opening this back up again. “Give me two reasons.”

“It’ll be fun…” he repeats. He takes one hand off your hip and cups your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. “And I’m sorry,” he adds, his brown eyes pouring into yours. 

With a big sigh, You bite your lip and look to the ceiling. “And what are you sorry for Llewyn?” 

“For all of it, Marcy,” he says while leaning in to nuzzle his nose into your neck. “I've missed you.”

You softly wine as your body slumps into his touch. You forget all of your pain until he dares kiss your neck, propelling all the memories back to you. 

You abruptly push back and stand up. “You’ve missed me so much yet you’ve barely spoken to me. I don’t think I can believe the lie this time.”

He sits up straight, looking confused. “The lie? What the fuck? When have I lied to you?” 

Taking a moment before you speak, you let your emotions die down as you stare at each other. He opens his palms to accentuate his question and take a deep breath. “You didn’t tell me about Diane,” you say calmly, looking him dead in the eyes.

His open palm curves into a fist as his body slumps into itself, his eyes closing in pain. It takes a few moments for him to respond, his voice soft. “Not telling you something is not the same as lying”

“That’s a coward’s answer,” you spit back quickly.

He looks up at you with a scowl. You’ve caught him. He knows you’ve caught him. He falls back into the couch as he runs his fingers through his curls. For a moment there you almost thought he’d cry.

You fold your arms around yourself, watching him squirm under your gaze. “Jim and Jean had already told me. I already knew. And you said nothing. You fucking coward.”

He rubs vigorously at his temple. “I know. I know. I just... _ fuck _ . I knew that what happened with Diane would make you hate me. I knew you would stop bothering with me. I fucked up. And I’m sorry.” When he finally looks to you your stomach turns. His face is filled with utter remorse and his glossy eyes pull at your heartstrings. “I’m sorry, Marcy.”

You hold his eye contact for one long moment. But when you feel a single tear fall from your right eye, you shake your head and wipe it away. Turning on your heel, you return to your drink across the room and sit down, putting distance between the two of you. 

He leans forward and grabs his drink off the coffee table. He takes a sip and then holds the glass low between his thighs, rubbing his thumb along the glass. When he speaks, he looks at the liquid not you. “You looked pretty cozy with Jonah though.”

You scoff. He ruined it. He always has to ruin it. “Oh fuck you, Llewyn. Jonah would never have happened if you hadn’t left.” You focus your eyes on the front door, willing him in your mind to leave. You absentmindedly start rubbing at your wrists again.

“What happened with him?” he asks you with hesitancy, his eyes focused on the constant movement of your hands.

You shut your eyes. Your head slightly shakes as memories course through you. The pressure in your fingers increases. You’re borderline hurting yourself with how hard you’re pressing,

And then you accidentally pop your knuckle from squeezing too hard. Your eyes burst open and you see Llewyn staring at you, deeply worried. Your thoughts quickly shift to the day he left. It was colder than usual when you woke. Instead of his warm body beside you, there was a note on the nightstand that said ‘Sorry, Marcy.’ 

“Why did you leave?” you ask him, the question coming out more nonchalantly than it is.

His expression shifts from concern to panic. He stares at you for a long while, darting his reddening eyes between yours, before he hangs his head low and rubs at the detail on the glass in his hand.

_ No. _ He’s not going to do this again. He doesn’t get to shut down right before you get your answers. “If you missed me so much, why did you leave?” you ask him again more assertively. You can feel the angry tears starting to build, how dare he do this.

He continues to look at the floor, his thumb circling one particular spot on the glass, his right foot tapping a consistent quick pattern. He looks up just for a moment to meet his haggard eyes with your livid ones before switching his gaze to the frosty window.

Frustrated, you slam your glass down and stand up abruptly. “Nothing to say?  _ Nothing _ ? Why don’t you just get the fuck out Llewyn?” you berate him while gesturing at the door, “Why the fuck did I even bother with--”

“I loved you so much I didn’t know what to do about it,” he shouts, interrupting you as he places his glass down on the table with force and stands up to match your stance. 

Pent-up anger is radiating off of him. He’s breathing heavily and looking at you with almost a monstrous scowl. He didn’t realize what admitting it out loud would do him. He hasn’t felt this much emotion in months.

You’re frozen, transfixed on him. The realization slowly sinks in as a tear travels down your cheek. Any other answer would have hurt less.

His brain catches up with his body and he realizes how frightening he must look, the adrenaline rush making him aggressive. He takes a deep breath and softens his face. “I didn’t know what to do about it,” he repeats calmly. He straightens his shoulders and tries to ignore the need to touch you that is building in his fingers. 

“You  _ stay,  _ you idiot,” you say, voice cracking with a sob. You watch his neck strain as he suppresses his own cry. He says nothing in return, it's taking every ounce of strength he has to keep him where he is.

The longer you stand there in silence, the stronger the magnetic pull between you grows. Your mind is hazy, too many emotions countering each other. You hate him. You love him. You want to embrace him. You want to hurt him. You want  _ him. _

“Do you still?” you muster out, your mouth saying the words before your brain realizes it.

“Do I still, what?” he asks rapidly, eyes searching your face for a clue.

“Love me?” you ask, feeling a tingle of electricity shoot through you from the stare you are holding him in.

“Yeah...I’d say I do,” he answers without breaking eye contact.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

He lunges for you, hands first. One hand grabs your arm and the other wraps around the back of your head to pull you to him, his lips finding yours in one swift motion. It’s messy and desperate, tears smearing across your cheeks, making your whole face feel wet.

He’s pushing you back, his lips never leave yours until you hit the wall. Your hand snakes up into his curls and he groans when you give a sharp tug. When he dives back to your mouth, you inhale sharply, his hands sliding up your sweater, feeling like fire on your skin.

His touch only makes you want more. You grab the hems of his shirts and start to pull them up. He mirrors your movements and suddenly you’re both dragging your fingers over each other’s exposed skin.

He palms your breast over your bra and fixates his mouth on your neck. The whine that leaves you ungodly and you grip his belt-loops tightly, tugging his waist closer to you. In the haze of bliss, you manage to unbutton and unzip his pants, letting them fall so you can find more of him. You swipe your hand over his clothed throbbing cock and his kisses stutter, the vibration from his guttural groan shooting down your spine.

He pulls his mouth away and flips you around so your breasts are pressed against the wall. He kisses his way down as he lowers himself, pulling your remaining clothes with him until they pool at your feet and you step out of them. The sound he makes when he sees the effect he’s had on you makes you shiver.

He removes the rest of his own clothes before he rises. The heat radiating off of him teases your back as goosebumps form on your skin. You just need him a little closer. A little closer and you’ll melt into the wall.

His hardness rubs against your ass while he strokes it, preparing himself for what he’s about to feel. You both choke on your breaths when the head meets your wet slick. You spread your legs a little wider and your voice shudders when he pushes in slowly.

It’s languid at first, one of his hands resting on your hip as he drags himself along. But your little whimpers encourage him to thrust more, deeper, trying to reach that spot within you that he knows will get you where he wants you. He nuzzles his nose in your neck and along your shoulders, planting kisses as he goes. His other hand moves between you and the wall to grab your right breast. It feels like he is everywhere all at once.

He is increasing his pace as his chest connects with your back, his face in your hair, his hot breath in your ear. His hand entangles itself with yours and slides it up against the wall until he is holding it there above your head. His left hand is gripping your waist just tight enough. His cock is hitting that spot at just the right pace and force. You can feel your temperature rising.

And then it’s all over too soon. He stutters a ragged groan and his body jerks a few times before falling still. You can feel the effects of what’s happened coating you and you can’t help but groan out of frustration. You were so close.

He’s frozen, still gripping you and holding you still as he tries to stabilize his breaths. Slowly, he brings your arm back down to your side and steps back, pulling his softening cock from you. He says nothing but stays close, you can still feel the heat rolling off of him. You stay still too. You’re not sure what happens now.

“Llewyn..I-” you start.

But he pulls your arm mid-sentence and brings you into your bedroom. He grabs the towel from your bath that’s laying on the vanity with one hand and shoves you backwards onto the bed with the other. He nudges you to scoot back. And you do, watching him intently.

He props your legs up one after the other and opens your cunt to him. He takes the towel and gingerly wipes away the cum that had made all the pleasure stop. You shudder when the fabric grazes over your clit, still sensitive from it’s close call.

When he’s finished, he tosses the towel towards the bathroom door and re-focuses his hungry brown eyes on you. He keeps his stare as he slowly lowers himself down and wraps his arms under your legs. Your lungs are holding your breath in anticipation. You don’t even realize the needy nods of approval your head is making. Closer, Llewyn, closer.

Your eyes close to focus on the sensation of his beard scraping against you while his mouth returns to where it’s been missed. His tongue makes art of your cunt. It swirls itself in between your folds to make you sing his praises so sweetly. He’s unrelenting, unwilling to have the most beautiful music he’s ever heard leave his ears.

His rough, warm hands trail up and down your body. Your plush stomach, your thighs, your waist, the callouses built up from years of playing guitar strum every part of your skin. And then he reaches back a little and drags his palm up the back of your right thigh until he hooks your leg over his shoulder.

His lips are wrapped tightly around your clit when his fingers start to enter you. You inhale sharply and they easily glide along the slick walls to curl up and make your stomach muscles contract. He glances up and sees how absolutely wrecked you are and groans, the action causing you to tighten around his fingers because of the vibration. You’re done for. It won’t be long now.

He pulls your left leg wider and his mouth uses everything it's got to lick and swirl and suck until the tingle in your toes shoots straight up your body and it all comes cascading out. Your hands release the sheets they were strangling in order to sink furiously into his curls. Your little tugs help him keep your pleasure going as he won’t stop until you will him too.

It’s suddenly too much and you have to shove his head away. He leans back and slowly slips his fingers from you. He pulls himself up and rests on your legs so he’s looming over you, knees digging into the mattress to keep him upright.

Llewyn is a mess. His face is sweaty and flushed. His beard is soaked and his lips are shiny. His hands tense on your kneecaps where he’s rested them, watching you as you come down. But his cock is impossibly hard again and the fire behind his eyes lets you know that he is simply waiting for your cue to do it all over again.

You reach for him and he follows, leaning himself down over you. But instead of wrapping your arms around him and letting him take you just like this, you shove him to the side and get him to lay on his back. You swing your leg over his and shudder when you slide over his coarse hairs.

You reach behind you and unhook your bra, flinging it over to the side of the bed. His hands fly up to catch your breasts, the rough palms sliding over your peaked nipples. You lift yourself up and shimmy back just a tad, gripping his cock in your hand. His fingers tense around your breasts as you slowly sink yourself down onto him.

You feel powerful with him below you. His blown-out pupils don’t know where to focus as you take what you need from him. He’s entranced with how your body moves on top of him. You feel a resurgence of endurance from watching him lose it and ignore the burn in your thighs.

The addictive strain on his lungs from where you’re focusing all your weight on his sternum convinces him he doesn’t need to breathe. Not when it feels like this. Not when it’ll result in you falling apart again.

He grips your waist to guide you as his hips cant up to meet your rhythm. With his adjustment, the angle is impossibly good. One, two, three sharp, deep thrusts and you gasp. The orgasm hits and your arms falter, your head falling to his chest, sobs of pleasure seeping out. If it weren’t for his grasp on you, you’d have fallen completely. But he’s holding firm and keeps thrusting until you push yourself back upright when your consciousness returns.

Using his leverage, he nudges you to flip over onto your back. You follow his lead and his body is surrounding yours moments later. He throws your legs around his waist and sinks himself back into your core as quickly as he can.

You feel safe with him above you. You grip his straining arms while his fists dig into the mattress for support. His brown eyes trapping you in an intense stare as he steadily drives his hips to yours over and over again.

He lowers himself to rest on his forearms and kisses you with such an intensity that you clench around his cock. You moan into his lips and your hands shoot up to cup his neck. His hands grip your shoulders on either side of your body, keeping you locked to the mattress. His moustache chafes your upper lip, his beard scratches your chin, his fingers dig into your skin, his hips slam against the backs of your thighs, but you don’t care. You need this. You need him.

He can feel it coming this time and he pulls his lips away for a moment to warn you. Needing him back immediately, you whine and assure him it's ok before re-capturing his mouth and not letting him escape again. Only a few moments more and you can feel the air sharply exhaling from his nose as he stills. His lips freezes on yours, keeping you locked to him as he gives you everything he has.

He pulls his head back and rests his forehead against yours. He silently chuckles for a moment and you clench around him when his stomach muscles contract. With a groan, he pulls out and rolls over to the side of you, both of you laying on your backs staring up at the ceiling.

You aren’t sure what you are feeling. You’re lying there and you feel satisfied and content. But you don’t feel the need to reach for him. You’re ok to lay here just like this for a while.

He doesn't do anything either. Just slowly returns to a state of calm with his eyes closed. He thinks he might fall asleep until his eyes shoot open when he feels the bed move.

You get up to use the bathroom and say nothing as you shut the door behind you. You take care of your needs and return with a cloth for him, offering him a smile when he takes it from you. You lay back down next to him in the same position, returning your eyes to the ceiling.

He tosses the cloth near where the towel lies. He turns his head and sees you looking at the ceiling. He lays on his side to face you and rests his hand on your stomach. You lay your hand over his but don’t turn to look at him.

“I took too long to come back,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Mmm,” you humm back, still not turning to look at him.

He starts moving his hand along your torso, your hand following along. “I came back before, but you were with Jonah.”

“I remember,” you say, closing your eyes.

“Why did you date him?” he asks, stopping his motions to wait for an answer.

“You left first, remember,” you answer matter-of-factly. 

“Mmm,” he mumbles, beginning to absentmindedly play with your skin again.

You finally turn over on your side and face him. His hand continues to trace your silhouette. You drag your thumb down his lips and cup his chin to run your fingers through his beard. “Why did you leave? Weren’t you happy?”

His eyes betray him and show his tinge of panic. His hand rests on your hip and he swallows slowly. He holds your gaze for a moment before speaking.

“I loved you Marcy. But after Mike...I, I was tired,” he admits quietly. Mike’s suicide shattered him and led him on a path of self-destruction. He rarely talks about his old partner, even when the wound was fresh and his body was still warm. But for some reason he doesn’t feel any barrier between his words and his feelings right now. “And I don’t really think I’ve come back together yet.”

“I miss him,” you say, turning over and placing your back against his chest. You bring his arm to lay on your stomach, resting against the natural curve of your body.

“I miss him too,” he adds, tangling his leg into yours and putting his chin on your shoulder.

Your breath tightens and words bubble in your throat. You’re fighting but you push through and let them out. It’s now or never to bring it up. “Llewyn, one day you were here. And then one day you were gone. Then you were with Diane, acting like you didn’t see me at The Gaslight. And then I heard she was pregnant. And then I heard she wasn’t anymore. And then you were at my door.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, digging his forehead into your shoulder.

“You were at my door after months and you came and left again, like nothing. Like I was  _ nothing _ .” Your voice cracks on the last word.

He lifts his head again and strengthens his grip on you, pulling you as tightly to him as possible. Even his leg has twisted itself more into you curling under one of your ankles. He takes his time, thinking of the right words.

“I came that day to get you back,” he says and then pauses.

You don’t respond. You listen and wait.

“I wanted it with you. Everything that was happening with Diane, I wanted it with you. For Christ’s sake every time I looked at her stomach after we found out I kept seeing your face. She was thinking about moving back to Ohio and getting a house and asking me what I was going to do besides music. And the whole time she was talking, I couldn’t get the image out of my head of you and me and a little one running around.”

You can feel your eyes getting watery but all you do is lay your hand over his arm. You don’t quite believe him but you don’t think he’s lying. He genuinely believes his words. You say nothing.

“But when I came to tell you, Jonah was there,” he says before digging his nose into your neck. “So, I left.”

You’re silent, taking it in, thinking about everything he’s ever done and how the scenario he’s described goes against it. It sounds like something he believes he  _ should _ be, not something he  _ actually _ is. 

If he really wanted that life, the appearance of another man wasn’t going to stop Llewyn from even trying. If he really wanted that life, he’d already have it.

“I don’t know if you really want that with me. I don’t know if you really want that with anyone.” you say softly with your eyes closed. “You don’t know what you want.”

He lets the words linger in the air, the weight of their truth keeping them from floating away.

After a few minutes, you think you’re starting to fall asleep when he says, “Diane kept the kid ya know.”

“She  _ what _ !” you gawk, eyes shooting back open.

“Yeah, there’s a little Llewyn running around Ohio, poor kid,” he admits with a breathless chuckle, “I only found out a little while ago. Ran into the doctor and he tried to give me the money back.”

Your mind races through so many conflicting thoughts about the situation it almost makes your head hurt. Would he even have told you if you hadn’t ended up like this in bed? Was he planning on going to Ohio? How could he not know already? Wasn’t he with Diane when they went for the abortion? 

You clear your throat when you realize that you haven't responded audibly yet. “What are you gonna do?” you finally ask him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He waits a minute and then asks, “What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, clinging to his arm just a bit tighter.

Silence floods the room again and the only thing you can hear is breathing and the sounds of the city outside. It’s a comfortable silence but there is a layer of uncertainty permeating. After a while, Llewyn’s breathing levels and you can tell he’s fallen asleep.

You brush your fingers over his cheek and your name falls from his lips in a sigh. It pulls at your heartstrings and makes your eyes water. You rip your hand from his face and curl it into your chest.

You know he cares for you, truly you do. But Llewyn is a one-man tornado and wrecks any good that comes to him. He admitted all this tonight but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to accept the change that would come with getting what he supposedly wants. There are conversations that need to be had, but you’re not even sure if you will get the chance.

Your last thoughts before you succumb are whether you are going to wake to him or just his remnants.

  
  



	2. The Formation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the moment you first laid eyes on Llewyn Davis you can't get him out of her head.

You’re not sure whose idea it was to come out to this dingy bar but you’re bored. You’ve only been here for about three acts but the atmosphere is way down from the other places you’ve been tonight. You had hoped for a big night of fun, something that Giancarlo had definitely promised you before you left your apartment. But instead, you’re sitting in a rickety chair around a table with a few friends, while two men warble on stage about how their wives left them.

Glancing around the place, you see face after face glued to the stage until your eyes land a tense situation in the corner by the bar. A woman with blunt brown bangs and pale skin is berating a man with curly black hair who, you can tell by his body language, is very very tired. You can feel her ire from here and become entranced watching this man just do nothing as she continues to, no-doubt, tell him everything he’s ever done wrong in his life. You can’t help but wonder what caused this degradation.

Another man with styled hair and a warm sweater comes to the side of the woman and wraps his arm around her. His face is apologetic and he slaps the curly-haired man on the shoulder. He says something that you guess is meant to soothe the other man before leading the woman out of the bar. The woman turns around and flicks off the man she was chastising before finally walking through the door. 

You watch as the man turns and faces the stage, finding a chair and placing his drink on the table closest to it.  _ Oh _ . He’s handsome. You had only been able to see part of him from where he leaned against the bar, soaking up whatever that woman said to him. But now, you can’t help but stare as he looks up to the musicians. You can see him trying to move past what just happened but his eyes give away how exhausted he is.

He must feel eyes on him because he abruptly starts turning his head, looking for something in the crowd. You jerk your head back and look to the drink in your hand. You take a sip and refocus your attention back to men still singing about life’s hardships.

As the duo finish their set to a meager round of applause, an older man gets up on stage and grabs the attention. “Ok, that’s everyone who’s on the list tonight. Bar will close in an hour folks. Get your last few in. Thanks for coming out tonight.” He raises his hands and nods his head before returning to his place behind the bar.

_ Finally _ . Maybe now we can go somewhere where at least people pretend to be happy. You turn to ask what’s next but Giancarlo is focused on something else, waving his arm at someone who’s not at your table.

“Hey, Llewyn!” Giancarlo says, beckoning the person over. “Good to see you. Sorry, we arrived quite late so we missed your set.”

You suck in a breath when you see who it is. The curly-haired man is frozen with a grimace staring at your table as Giancarlo keeps waving him over. He looks over your group and his head tilts when he gets to you. His eyes quickly give you a once over and he downs his drink before deciding to come over.

Giancarlo rises to meet him and holds the man’s hand after shaking it. “Guys this is Llewyn Davis. He plays with Mike Timlin but we missed their set tonight. Here, Llewyn come sit down. I’ll go get you a beer.” Giancarlo practically forces the guy into the open chair next to you and hurries off to the bar.

The curly haired man, or Llewyn, is awkward and frazzled by how Giancarlo just manhandled him and then ran off. He shakes his head and his brow furrows, sitting there like a grumpy old man. It’s silent until Robert breaks the ice by introducing the rest of the group. 

Lizzie, Eric, Dana, and then you. When it's your turn, Llewyn’s head turns to yours and you can feel your temperature rise. Everywhere his gaze falls while he quickly looks you over feels like fire on your skin. He stretches out his hand for you to shake and when you take it you wonder if he can feel the little jolt of electricity that shoots through you.

“Llewyn,” he says, not letting go of your hand.

“Marcy,” you say, not pulling your hand back.

Giancarlo places a drink in front of Llewyn and you jump, remembering that there are other people at the table. You pull your hand back and offer Llewyn a shy smile as your ears start to tune into Giancarlo’s rambling.

“...and I haven’t seen you and Mike in awhile. Have you guys been busy since you got that record made?” Giancarlo says, plopping himself back down in his chair next to Robert. Robert lightly places his hand on Giancarlo’s thigh under the table so that only a few can see it. Giancarlo instinctively turns to Robert whose eyes bulge in warning, willing his roommate of five years to calm down.

Llewyn’s eyes shift out of focus for a second before he blinks himself back into reality. “Yeah, very busy. Mike...Mike’s been tired lately.” he says before taking a drink.

Giancarlo, taking note of Llewyn’s aversion to the topic, changes the conversation to something else to keep it going. You’re paying attention and talking too but you find yourself looking over at the man next to you, wondering what is going on under that mop of curly black hair.

With being seated right next to him, you can really see everything. His strong nose, his full beard, the faded color under his sunken eyes, it all balances out into the most beautiful sad face you think you’ve ever seen. He hasn’t said or revealed much, but you can tell he’s had his fair share of hardships in this life. It’s written all over him.

A bell rings at the bar and the bartender shouts for last call. 

“It’s about that time,” Robert says, scooting his chair back to put on his coat. The rest of the group does the same. You notice how thin Llewyn’s coat is. It’s not nearly warm enough for this kind of weather.

“Where’s home?” Llewyn asks Giancarlo as Lizzie, Eric and Dana wave goodbye, walking out of the bar together.

“Brooklyn,” he answers.

“Got a couch?” Llewyn asks.

Giancarlo turns to Robert quickly with his mouth open. The two roommates exchange painced glances, both immediately thinking about the state of their one-bedroom apartment.

“I do,” you say, without thinking.

“You do?” Llewyn says, turning his focus on you.

“I do,” you repeat more timidly. “In Brooklyn.” 

The apartment is a new acquisition. Up until recently, you had been living with Dana and Lizzie in a cramped place. But you had saved and saved and saved. And you had begged the landlord to let you rent it without the approval of your father or any other man for that matter. If anyone ever came poking around you’d have Giancarlo come and pretend to be the man of the house anyway. It took a lot of home-cooked meals and money upfront to convince him. But you got the apartment, no?

“Guess we’re all going to Brooklyn then,” Robert says, throwing his scarf around his neck.

The taxi ride is quiet. You are squished into the back with Robert and Giancarlo while Llewyn is up in the front passenger seat, his guitar case placed between his legs. You’re watching the lights of the city speed by when you’re nudged in the stomach. You look over to find both Robert and Giancarlo looking at you insistently. 

“Be safe,” Giancarlo mouths inaudibly.

“Call us. For anything.” Robert adds, adding hand motions to accentuate his silent point.

You smile and nod. They only live a few blocks and a phone call away. If there is any real danger, you know they would be there within minutes.

They’re right to worry. Offering to let him stay is a little reckless for you. You don’t know why you’re not worried about letting this man sleep in your apartment for the night. But you’re glad at least someone is thinking clearly for you.

You all shuffle out of the taxi when it pulls up in front of your building. Giancarlo and Robert insisted they drive to your place over theirs because they “could use the extra walk anyway.” It’s fucking cold out. You had forgotten because of how tightly the taxi was packed. But now you are quickly saying goodbye and jogging over to the entrance of your apartment, desperate to get inside.

You buzz in the code and hold the door open for Llewyn as he tries to maneuver his bag and guitar into the narrow doorway. It’s silent as you climb the three floor walkup. You focus on your breathing as you lead him up, closer to your home where you’re letting this stranger stay.

“It’s not much but it's mine,” you say as you hold the door open for him. Your apartment is tiny but it does have everything you need. And it's a one bedroom with a bathroom, at that! You’ve escaped the studio and shared hall bathroom life for now.

“It’s a palace,” Llewyn says and he drops his bags near the couch. He jumps onto the sofa and tests the cushions, immediately making himself at home.

You chuckle to yourself as you close the door. “Do you want a water?”

He sits upright quickly, as if he suddenly remembered this is the first time he’s been in your home. “Yes, thanks.”

You give him a glass and sit on a chair on the opposite side of the room from the sofa with your own cup of water. You watch him as you take a sip. He seems much more relaxed now than he did at the bar. Maybe one of the things wearing him down earlier was where he would spend the night. Maybe it was just being around all those people.

“So, thanks for letting me stay,” he says, finishing the drink and placing it on the coffee table in front of him.

“You’re welcome,” you answer with a shy smile. He smiles big at your tiny one.  _ Wow _ . He’s even more handsome when his brown eyes light up.

“So, a musician, huh?” you add, trying to keep the conversation moving.

“Yeah. I sing folk songs.” He says. You catch his eyes focusing on your lips.

“Shame I missed your set.” You admire the curls that fall over his forehead and your hand flexes when you think of how it would feel if you ran your fingers through them.

“I wouldn’t mind giving a private show,” he offers with a tinge of sass. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Is there a charge?” you ask, eyes darting quickly up and down his body.

“I work in exchange for couch rentals, don’t worry. Very affordable,” he assures you with a stern face. 

You laugh. “Good that fits my price range.”

The bright smile returns to his face. Little crinkles appear around the corner of his eyes and you’re made fully aware of how easy it would be to drown in those pools of brown.

He takes out his guitar from its case and lays it over his lap. He gives it a few test strums until he finds a rhythm he likes.

“What do you want to hear?” he asks while aimlessly playing.

“Anything,” you answer, a goofy grin on your face as you slump further back into your chair.

“I’ll play you one of my favorites,” he says as he starts to strum more deliberately. 

You’re awestruck. You didn’t know what you expected but you didn’t prepare your heart to melt. Llewyn’s voice is gorgeous and the music is so simple and beautiful. Your eyes are glued to him, your face stuck with a permanent smile, watching him play and enjoying every moment.

_ Fare thee well, my honey, Fare thee well  _

He winks at you when he sings the last round of the chorus and you can feel your inside sink into mush. 

You’re both beaming when he finishes. You give him a quiet applause as he puts away the guitar. He tries to hide his pleased face but when he turns back to you his smile gets even wider.

“Bravo,” you yawn while trying to compliment him.

“Wow, that bad?” he teases with a smirk.

“No, I’m just-” you yawn again. “Llewyn that was lovely.”

“Thanks,” he says rubbing his thighs. 

You hold his eye contact for a moment before you suddenly remember what’s happening and blink back into reality. “Ok, blankets.” You stand up and grab the few blankets you have tucked between the space between the wall and the side of the couch for him. He thanks you and accepts them as you hurry into your bathroom to get yourself ready for bed.

When you come back out he’s moved the couch cushions onto the ground and arranged himself a bed on the floor. You tilt your head and scrunch your face looking at his work. 

“The cushions are good and it’s less restrictive on the floor,” he says, reading your thoughts. 

You chuckle. He really does just make himself at home, huh? “You good?” you ask him, ready to close your door for the night.

“I’m good,” he assures you, nudging one of the pillows with his elbow until he settles down into it.

“Goodnight,” you say, reaching for the lightswitch.

“Goodnight,” he replies, closing his eyes as the light goes out.

Tucking yourself into bed you feel giddy. This night turned out wildly different than expected. And you’re wondering what will happen in the morning. That is, unless you’ve made a huge mistake and this Llewyn Davis will have ruined your life by then.

  
  


~~~

“Good morning Marcy,” he says when you open your bedroom door. He’s still on the floor, propped up one one elbow looking up at you with squinty eyes still rife with sleep. He looks just as handsome in the sunlight as he did in the moonlight.

“Morning,” you say with a smile. “And how was the floor?”

“The floor?” he asks with a sarcastic smirk. “Is this not The Plaza?”

You keep your smile and roll your eyes, slinking into the chair you inhabited last night. You reach over to the side and pull the matching footstool around to the front and prop your legs up. “I take it you slept well then.”

“Out like a light,” he says, staring at your newly bent legs. “Dead to the world.”

A tingle of some kind shoots through you when he looks up to meet your eyes. “I’m glad to hear that,” you say, turning to hide your bashful face.

He scrambles up and puts the couch back together. He grabs his guitar out of its case and sits down on the cushions. He mindlessly plays while he looks out the window from where he had pulled the blind up.

The yellow of the new day streaming through the blinds creates a cozy warmth and you wrap your arms around yourself, closing your eyes and listening to the soft music. Your toes curl against the cushion and your hands drape your upper arms thinking about the touch of the lovely musician playing for you in the living room. You’ve only known him a few hours but he’s all you can think about right now.

You don’t notice the music has stopped until you feel a hand on your foot. Your eyes darting open, you find Llewyn on his knees next to the footstool, looking at you intently with his fingers dancing on your skin, slowly daring to move higher up your leg. Holding your gaze, he lowers his head and kisses your outer thigh, running his hand up the inside of it.

You softly moan and sink your back further into the chair. He grows more bold and his hands trail up to the hem of your sleep shorts. When he looks up to you for permission, you whimper a yes and allow him to pull them all the way down, revealing your lack of underwear beneath.

He groans and holds your legs up while he pushes the footstool out of the way with his hips until he is squarely in front of you. He puts your legs on his shoulders and opens your glistening cunt to him. He drags his coarse beard along the inside of your thighs before he wraps his arms under to grab your waist and pull you closer to him.

His dark eyes are hungry for you as he buries his face into your folds. Your gasp and your hands instinctively entangle themselves into his perfect curls. His tongue travels all through you, focusing up at the bundle of nerves near the top before making its way down and in the entrance. A natural born singer, he can’t help but moan into you as he does so, only making it feel that much better.

That scratch of his beard, the wet of his tongue, the intensity of those brown eyes watching, he has you seeing stars soon enough, sooner than expected. A particularly snug suck of his lips around your clit and you're done for, cumming hard with a tight grip on his curls. You let him continue to lick at you until your hands limp back down onto the chair.

He pulls back, still supporting your legs on his shoulders, and returns the foot stool to the front of the chair. He encourages you to adjust so that you can lay more flatly with the extra space. He takes to his place between your thighs again and throws your legs around his waist. 

He pulls his boxers down to reveal his hard cock, standing at attention after being newly freed. He takes two fingers and drags them through your folds, making sure to draw a few circles around your sensitive clit, before coating himself in your cum. You bite your lip when he looks away from your pussy, stroking himself as he prepares for all of you. He raises his eyebrow and you nod enthusiastically, putting a hand on his hip for added encouragement.

One hand gripping your thigh the other on his shaft, he lines himself up and slowly sinks into your perfect cunt. His breath staggers when he bottoms out and you clench around him, adjusting to the stretch. He slowly rocks into you as his hands dig into your sides, slowly moving up your body until he pushes the fabric of your shirt up to reveal your breasts. 

You reach up and hold onto his shoulders, raising your legs and spreading them a little wider so he can hit deeper. The rhythmic slow roll of his cock is everything and you can’t control the sounds escaping you. Every time your eyes meet his you feel your core twitch around him and feel his pace falter just a little.

His strokes insistently grow faster and he leans down over you, one arm resting on the cushion, the other grabbing at your breast. You sink into his touch and arch your back, your hips trying to meet his thrusts.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters before he takes his hand off your breast to cup your face and bring your lips to his. You moan into the kiss, never knowing how much you needed his lips on yours until this very moment. 

With your legs spread as wide as you could manage on your own, he pulls his hand from your cheek and uses it to stretch you just a little more. His breath shudders against yours before he kisses you again and again and again. “I’m almost there.  _ Fuck _ , I’m gonna cum,” he says with a deliciously strained voice.

“Okay,” you say before you take back his lips. Your hand presses down on his ass, encouraging him to grind more deeply into you. You know he’s close and it’ll be over soon, but damn if this doesn’t feel like heaven.

A minute or two later his will gives out and his hips slam into yours one final time with great force before he’s reaching his peak, spilling into you as he continues to kiss you. You take your hand from his ass and cup his face, dragging your fingers through the coarse beard that has been dragging against your skin.

When he finally settles, he rests his forehead on yours for a moment before placing a kiss on your cheek and standing fully up. He tenses a little from the strain in his legs, he’s not as youthful as he once was. He helps you up when you start to push yourself off the chair. 

You both shower after you’ve cleaned up, deciding to start the day over fresher than it had actually begun. So now you are sitting in your same places as the night before, you in the chair and him on the couch, but fully clothed and fully-fucked, excited to see how much life is sweeter after some heated morning sex.

“So…” you start to say, thinking of what you actually want to say.

“So…” he mimics in a slight mocking tone.

“Hey!” You roll your eyes with a smile. “Do you maybe want to go to a diner? I don’t think I have much of anything to eat.”

He leans over and grabs his bag off of the floor. He opens one of the pockets and flips through something. He makes a surprised smile and looks back up to you. “A diner sounds great.”

When Llewyn throws on his threadbare coat, you look at him and scrunch up your face. Before he has time to process what you’re doing, you rush back into your bedroom and grab your grandfather’s coat from the back of your closet. You’ve had it for years and it’s never fit right. Maybe, it was never meant for you to keep.

“Here,” you offer him the coat, “Have this.”

His eyes bulge a little. “Marcy, I can’t.” He says unconvincingly, his hands feeling the thick warm fabric.

“Take it. It’s a hand-me-down and it has never fit me right.” you insist.

He shrugs off his thin jacket quickly and slips on the new one. It fits him far better than it ever did you. And far better than it ever fit your grandfather, for that matter!

Buttoning up the coat, he smooths over the sides and looks at you, very pleased. “Thanks. I needed this.”

“I’m glad I have someone to give it to,” you say, opening the door for him to walk through.

Just as you’re about to lock the door, the phone rings. You grimace at Llewyn and tell him you’ll meet him downstairs as you rush over to the phone on the wall before you miss it.

“Hello?” you ask into the receiver.

“You alive?” Giancarlo asks.

You laugh. “Yes. We’re just heading out for breakfast now.”

“Robert, she’s alive. Are you good now? She’s going to breakfast,” Giancarlo says over his shoulder to the other man in his apartment.

“Have fun!” you can hear Robert say faintly from what must be across the room.

“Well good to hear you’re alive, Marcy,” Giancarlo continues. “Go, enjoy,” he adds without an ounce of sarcasm.

You quickly end the phone call and rush down the stairs, eager to see the man you’ve quickly become attached to.

He’s outside smoking a cigarette, facing the road. He turns his body around when he hears the door close and greets you with a smile.

“Ready to go?” you ask. He nods and you begin to lead the way to the closest diner while Llewyn finishes his smoke.

It’s a brisk four-block walk but you don’t mind. You can’t feel the rumble of hunger in your stomach over the fluttering of butterflies you get every time you meet Llewyn’s eye when you look over at him. It’s a mostly silent walk, but that doesn’t mean it's any less enjoyable. 

The hostess seats you in a tiny booth in the corner where you have to sit across from each other over a rickety table. It’s cramped and the place is packed but you’re not worrying about any of those things right now. When the waitress comes over you both order the $2.50 special that comes with bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee in hopes that it’ll come out quickly due to its simplicity.

Your knees brush up against each other under the table and you smile when he gives your leg a teasing shove. When the food arrives you both dive in, suddenly made intensely hungry by the smell wafting into your noses. You exchange soft smiles in between mouthfuls of breakfast and enjoy your meal with him without having to force any words.

You can’t help but think about what could await you now that Llewyn Davis seems to be a new fixture in your life.

  
  



End file.
